Prefect
by The Fish with no pen
Summary: The loss of so many neutrals wasn't completely the fault of the war...it was just seen that way before those of Prefect started to escape their 'safe haven'. Heavily AU, and weirdness abound, you have been warned.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Transformers or Bioshock, major and rich corporations do. I also don't even really own the idea of the cultures I used in here, they're just twisted versions of ideas others who I credited down below had come up with first.

**Warnings:** Weirdness is afoot, as well as blatant and liberal use of artistic license in regards to some ideas thought up by **sanjuno** and **katsuko** on livejournal, about flightless seekers. hopefully they won't kill me too much for that. Also any video game players may see the similarities between Prefect and a certain underwater city named Rapture. And yes this Phish is an AU whore.

* * *

#Symbol Legend#

'Blah'=Name spoken in cant

**Blah**= Speech in cant

_Blah_= Speech in wing cant

Blah= Word is being stressed

* * *

It claimed to be the hidden golden age when the rest of the world had plunged into the chaos of war. Tucked away that not even Prime and his little council could find it and thus remain untouched. Prefect is what they called it, oh the name of the city was some grand presumptuous thing, but to most who sought refuge there or talked about it in hushed voices on the streets of Iacon, it was just known as Prefect. A nice little way to keep the enforcers of the autobots and the shock troops of the decepticons guessing on what those transmissions meant, since they only called the place by the name the high and mighty ruler of the city called it. The leader that boasted so many idealistic promises that no mech with a sound cpu should have bought even an iota of the slick moving politician's words, but war makes people desperate, and with each new city razed to the ground and the numbers of neutrals declining rapidly…desperation took hold of any common sense programming and smothered it.

So they flocked to the secret little places to prove they should be taken in, like lost turbo fox pups hiding from the Tower mechs that hunted them for sport. The ones who didn't meet the standards of that leader were taken someplace else to hide from the war. A pity present, while those that caught the optics of the ones in that mech's circle were whisked away and never heard from again by those left behind. The dwindling numbers blamed by each faction on the other until even the reasons to take up arms blurred and faded away until it was the only thing anyone knew.

To those that were not hidden away in Prefect, that is.

Prefect flourished to those who gained the favor of the ones in power. The ones who skulked about the darker areas of the hidden city only taking comfort in that they were not out dying for a war that made less sense each vorn that passed. The city of no restraints or morality codes that stifled the rest of society, allowing those who modified and experimented free reign to do as they wish regardless of how amoral it was to their test subjects. Discoveries made and progress moving in leaps and bounds for all to prosper from…if you had the right amount of credits. On the surface, the Golden age revisited and made better, while underneath the decay and destruction from the real horrors of this society began to eat away at sanity and the very foundation of Prefect.

And, as the organics say, like rats sensing a sinking ship, mechs and femmes started to attempt getting out…Easier said then done. Though some did find ways out, at least that was the tenacious hope others held onto as minibots and younglings went into the pipes. Pipes where the glorious leader and most other mechs couldn't get through because of size, but did not dare bar from all in fear, of the pipes that help keep the city alive would clog up irreversibly, if none went in to clean them now and again. Their Leader just made certain once in a while to order an acid bath for a section of piping if too many were wanting to clean it, which made it unusable for several megacycles. That one bit of weakness in the tightly held control of every aspect of the city, even if most of the upper echelon with their vapid cpus and docile following of the Leader believed his words of being completely free like a Seeker in the sky. If any of those air heads knew or remembered what a Seeker was to begin with was up for debate, since none that flew were able to withstand this city hidden so deeply under the ground of this distant and organic planet. Oh, in the beginning there were probably a few neutral flyers but never being allowed to leave the city for theirs and everyone's supposed safety, probably made them go mad. If the greedy little butchers that pretended to be scientists hadn't gotten to them first.

I wouldn't be surprised in the least, when I consider some of the little sparklings that skitter about in the shadows of the slums down here. Always looking up towards that cavernous ceiling stringed with lights and wearing such an odd look of longing, when their glitches or other problems didn't act up.

Yeah, a city free of all inhibitions, even that of basic decency if you went and got yourself with sparkling. It would probably even make that supposedly brutal faction of the war stop and just have a processor meltdown at the callous treatment of new life. Considering the few rumors I've heard being that both sides would probably die of shock if there were to see a sparkling again. It almost makes me care enough to try getting a message out and seeing what would happen. If either side would believe my tale and if they could drop their precious war long enough to come down here.

That involves having hope, and hope doesn't come cheaply down here.

* * *

'He who dances like a knife' had warned him about a lot of things, down here where the bright lights didn't quite reach, and the drip of rust creating water was everywhere. Warned him of the overly clean and shiny mechs with no color on their white panels, that came down and snatched up anyone who wasn't quick enough and took them to the places that smelled of sterilizers and rusting shells. About the odd creatures that were metal and organic matter and how to never draw a weapon near them or touch the little all black sparklings that trailed after them. 'Dances like a knife' had raised him to survive down here, when others would have ignored or used him for spare parts so he had followed everything he had been told. Especially about how to never trust those that could not speak like them, the ones that used words that were so simple and flat that they had to make up more words to say something that he and 'dances like a knife' could say with just a tilt of helm and burst of throttle. Those ones liked to ask stupid questions that their words couldn't ever answer right. They didn't understand why those like him and 'dances like a knife' always looked for others that fit them, or why they needed to live in sets of three to feel complete. Why they looked up at the ceiling of this place and yearned for something past it that tasted and felt like freedom and happiness but had no word for it amongst the odd ones who used their voices for words and not emotions.

Those ones could never understand what they themselves barely understood as well, so as a rule they just never went near them and distrust was the first reaction to any who tried to be friendly. It had kept him alive, even after 'dances like a knife' had finally lain down and went grey as the stone walls surrounding the city. Even when it made his spark ache that he had to fight the need to keen the sorrow to the twinkling lights above him, because he was alone, well and truly, as all the others like him just felt wrong and didn't want to add him to their groups. But he was used to watching his own back when 'dances like a knife' couldn't go places he could to look for things to fix and sell. The slanted and swaying rooftops were his and his alone to roam as none of the others of his kind were small or agile enough to leap from one to another and walk across the metal and wooden beams, like one would on the tightly packed dirt ground.

And after a while even the loss of the only member of his **group/family/safety/love** had faded and he didn't mind anymore being alone. Ignoring the pangs of **want/jealousy/need** when he saw others in groups of three or more curled up together to recharge or moving about the streets, content despite everything. Living and surviving just the way he had when the large frame of 'dances like a knife' had been there for him.

Until the little one had wandered by.

Little ones were common down here, only becoming rare when the ones who were all white showed up and managed to grab a lot of them since not many down here took them in. Part of him always wanted to fight back when he saw them grabbing a little one roughly, but 'dances like a knife' had always told him to be still even as his command was thrumming with rage as well. They were no match for the ones of white when they began collecting and they wouldn't be any good to the little ones that escaped if they got caught. They had always helped the little ones when they could, but never really took them as they always felt wrong. Most only able to speak in those words and never looked up like they did. This one though, he felt right and he couldn't ignore it even as the little one shied away at first.

He wasn't used to those who ran away, and would normally ignore them when they did, but he kept following that one until finally, finally a cautious hand was given. The position and purr giving greeting and question quicker then the words could ever hope to be.

**Safe?/Who?/Want?/One like me**

It had been a long time since another had talked to him like this, but even with that and the feeling he didn't answer right away. A name, the little one wanted a name and he was afraid a bit that they wouldn't fit. Because names meant so much to them because no name was the same even if they seemed so in words.

**Protect/Promise/One who defies the void/ Feel/Right?/Flock?**

It was out and then it was just…there and they were one and the same of **group/family/love**.

**Happiness/Wonder/That who warns of darkness/Right/Flock/Want me?**

Then that empty place that had throbbed and keened since 'dance like a knife' had offlined stopped hurting as much as it took this little one in. The sound of his name floating around in that space as if it had always been there, just like 'dance like a knife' had done before. And with it a feeling and instinct that made his optics sharper and movements quicker as he knew the little one had to be protected by him. Though, others, especially the word users, seemed to laugh at this since the little one was almost as big as him and he barely reached the hip joints of most that lived here as well. That didn't matter though because that made the bigger ones fall that much harder and faster when he took them down. Always seeming surprised when he was suddenly in the air, above their heads, right before his gun was used and they saw no more. The nastier of those like them forgetting that this is what his name meant as he defied the void, the space between him and the harsh ground when he took off; whether it be from rooftop to rooftop or just tempting Primus and his will when he took on bigger mechs then himself. Just in the same way his little one always knew who to sell to, who to not turn your back on, and if a place was safe to rest in.

He was content with life.

Yes he still felt the pull to **find/trine/love**, but it was easily kept at bay as he watched out for the little one, even when the little one upgraded and was not so little anymore. Oh his little one was smaller then many of the large mechs, but he still had to look up to meet the little one's optics. That wasn't a problem though because it wasn't the size that made the little one a little one, no it was the need of him that kept it as such. That pull of **find/trine/love** had not settled into 'warns of darkness', who still followed his orders exactly when told. They were hardly much as only two, but it was better then being alone, no matter what some of the other flocks said when they watched them from their larger flocks.

Until the look alikes showed up and somehow started following them around.

The two look alikes were older then them, which was odd itself as look alikes never upgraded that far before offlining. They even talked funny, not like them, but not like the word speakers either. Just something odd and quiet compared to their engine bursts and crackling energy as they used the swish of air and position of the funny door panels on their backs. It was odd but still right, and 'dances like a knife' had never warned against those types, which made him let them follow as they also joined in with the same feelings when looking up. Though to them it was **freedom/happiness/thrill** while the look alikes called it _home/dance/defiance/exhilaration_ and both never figured out if the word speakers had a bland noise for it. It made them same in that and soon they became flock, and 'defies the void' saw that the look alikes were not the same as the other look alikes that wandered about. They had names and acted differently, their abilities similar but still different, and though they clung to each other like the other look alikes they didn't need to do so, but chose to do so.

He did however get them to not be as much alike when he found out 'That which is unseen and still' could change his colors to that of black shadows and white stone, keeping the v sensor the same red as some optics that his look alike 'That which is untouchable and gone', had on some of his armor. That made it even better and right as a flock. For flocks were not meant to be the same, but unique so that all had a special place within to be useful when the time came. Like when finally the areas that had the bright lights touching them and was free of the rust causing water went dark and the clean pretty streets of white stone turned pink and grey from energon and ash. The talk of getting out to whatever was past the grey stone and brown mud circulating fast amongst all, and he finally decided it was time to look for what they all yearned for.

He gathered them up and somehow knew what they would need and what should be left, and marched them all out and into a pipe that could fit even the large look alikes. Though that might have been because 'untouchable and gone' lived up to his name and made him and 'warns of darkness' see through and solid as the vapor mist from the steam vents, while 'unseen and still' would melt into the black shadows and meet them at the next point of light. Moving up and up until when even he was not certain they'd make it, and then they saw it; a black ceiling with twinkling lights again. Only this ceiling did not make them feel caged and yearning, but made them all sing in joy. That ceiling was **freedom/happiness/thrill/**_home/dance/defiance/exhilaration_ and that was all that matter for a long time for them as they explored this place above their old home.

There they learned to finally use words and learned from the one that found them after the bright light (sun the word user called it) had come and gone from the (sky) several times. The bright red face on his chest and friendliness that even 'warns of darkness' had accepted making them use the words more to let this new person in. Not flock but he was friend.

"Well, you younglings will like Cybertron I think even if Ratchet may make you think otherwise, but he's a good mech and he tends to yell at you if he likes you, and he's always attentive to his patients. Though, do you have designations? Hate to give you one if you do."

That word had them confused for a moment, but 'unseen and still' was always quick to learn words and figured it out as he pointed to himself and then 'untouchable and gone' speaking slowly at first, because it was always so hard to say such important things in words.

"Prowl, and this is Smokescreen."

He didn't like the way their names sounded in words, but the one who found them didn't understand either the quiet flicks and swish of the look alikes or the crackle and thrum of him and 'warns of darkness' so he could live with word names for his flock to be safe with this not flock friend.

"Designation is Cliffjumper and the silent one over there is Red Alert. So what's this about a war?"


	2. Interlude 001

**Disclaimer: **Don't own don't sue, yadda, yadda, yadda, we know this drill by now peeps

**Notes:** Behold my lazy way of making backstory without really making it part of the story. Think of these like those pesky documents you tend to collect in video games that are used to add plot and in game information without making you watch fifty thousand cutscenes.

* * *

_Recording session 001; Location: Prefect's Codex Labs, Director's Office

* * *

_

War, war, war, war, repeating and echoing in every cpu down here in the dark and stronger then any physical chain that Carbonslice could make. His talk about the destruction of home and the offlined bodies piled in the streets, the destruction of the crystal gardens and rumors of sparklings being upgraded too early to become soldiers. The horrors that he paints with slick words and the blank optic look of those recently brought in as they babble about how Primus has forsaken those above ground. Such shows and speeches keeping the masses huddled together and bowing at his very feet in overly exuberant displays of praise and gratitude for keeping them safe. Sickening in the way they smile brightly at a man who keeps them all prisoner in his own private toy box.

Oh, no one outright and says such, but the way things happen here shows it, a few words here some interest there and people are dancing to a tune he creates. The city of freedom from everything that made Cybertron a place to never want to return to, paradise free from restrictions and corruption of government, free of the coil that is to follow that which is called a Prime. As if it is the very title that has caused our end and not the fault of many. So many easily forgetting the Primes before Sentinel, forgetting Sentinel's rein before as a group a council was asked for. In greed wanting some of the power that the Prime's had and thus because it was what the masses wanted, the masses got it and caused this all to happen. Mechs and femmes that were not kept in check by such a thing as the Matrix, and thus clawed their way ever more into the glory that the Prime held, and the Prime could only watch because the council is what was wanted and not one lone ruler who would lay his own spark down for the good of Cybertron.

That's the downfall of free will though; we want and want even if what we want is bad for us.

That's the main reason most of us ended up down here, and not to escape the war. Cowards isn't what this place is about, oh no, Carbonslice just used that as an excuse. The perfect gimmick to sell his wares and collect all the little toys he could ever want. Scientists and engineers that felt constrained by the common decency of morals and respect for life, who just wanted to play and experiment to their hearts content and giving no regard to the specimen on the table as a fellow; merchants and artists that liked to cut corners for the best profit and didn't care what the buyer wanted so long as they forked over the credits. This place wasn't a paradise outside of those who were too weak and spineless to join the Decepticons, or too brutal and apathetic of life to be an autobot. Just like the nickname this place has gotten Prefect, a mockery of what was supposed to be perfect.

Though, I fell for that sham as well and didn't see things were not lined up correctly until it was far too late, and I was too much entrenched in this way of life.

But, somewhere in this scarred spark of mines I must still believe in redemption, something that started to wiggle and worm its way back into life after watching a set of clones I helped create survive and prosper down in the slums. Taking on individuality when other clone sets stagnated in being the same, and reaching out to a pair of younglings that probably had so many random bits of coding running through them a decent topside medic would probably crash at how any of them could be functional. Even as my curiosity and want to know the definite answer, the vices that brought me to this place as it were, itched to take them apart and see what made them strong when others like them had been weak and died. To prove or disprove the theory that the strange coding from those Vosnians that had been brought down once every couple of orns was the crux of this matter and what allowed some younglings to survive and others to not; when flung down into the darker areas of Prefect like so many unwanted toys of the rich.

That is where I should start in my explanation and penance.

The first time I saw a 'seeker', those agile flyers that seemed almost alien to the trained eye but lumped together with the Kaon and Sigma created flyers by most of the world, had started my itch to know. How they always outstripped any other flying type, no matter what was boasted, and how they remained insular and detached from the rest of Cybertron in their little country of Vos. They were so different from any other make and model that strutted around and acted as if their model was the superior one. Turning blind optics when those seekers displayed talents that other Cybertronians would cut their own servos off for, always blanketing it in war model quirks, and saying the glitches and other slight coding problems of the group destroyed any positive quality those Sigma abilities produced.

I though, even then when vying for a place in the Science Academy, saw differently. I saw the next step for all of Cybertron. Just like organic creatures evolve over time into a better and more perfected version to survive, I too saw the code and ways to evolve us as well. Not with silly hardware modifications and streamlined, yet still the same tired coding, but on a deeper level. A level that could even affect our very sparks if the data was correct. Seekers as a whole produced more sparklings in gestation process with a higher survival rate then the rest, even of other flyer models. All without the need of Vector Sigma to scramble coding in hopes of it lining up for a spark that would be extraordinary without being completely glitched. Their sheer individuality and dynamics that many other groups lacked showed that their coding had superiority over other coding.

Oh, I didn't fancy having everyone and their turbo pup flying in the sky by this. No, I believed the coding could be tweaked and modified to allow even those on the ground even a fraction of the strength displayed by the Seeker codes. Getting said codes was my greatest obstacle as one needed to extract it from a living mech, and most of the council with their sneering prejudice against war models had denied me the right to try. More out of fear then actual wish to protect those of Vos I believe as most of those creaky old models would have jumped at any chance to sever Vos from the surface of Cybertron, if they could and not have the entire nation of Vos out for their sparks. Though finding other means to find the code would have been easy, but the code was useless to my ideas if I couldn't play with it.

Drones were offered as a substitute by those who did see hope in my thesis, but a drone would never be able to utilize the coding I wished to twist and expand on, as it would be impossible to see if the spark based parts of the code would take and pass on to the next generation. How could I watch to see how it would mature and mutate when drones did not upgrade or go through processes that mechs and femmes do all the time? No, that was where I was told to quietly drop this want and find a 'safer' route of research. Because sparklings were to be cherished and loved just like everyone had been told since they were nestled against a chassis and listening to an adult's spark beat.

I had scoffed at such, my blind ignorance over the fact I had once been a sparkling as well, making me see those tiny clicking creatures as a waste of time. Actually, applauding the mech who managed to manipulate Vector Sigma the first time to create a spark ready for the final adult upgrade, instead of nurturing a helpless spark through several costly upgrades and chance of code degradation. That had given me the idea that I needed to twist myself into my goal without having angry creators trying to dismantle me, thus bringing me back to the obstacle of before. Getting my servos on those codes I had coveted for vorns. Especially during the time when the talk of a rebellion amongst the miner cities began to reach even our audios up here in Iacon. Watching the general stupidity of my fellows as they closed rank on anyone that was not like them, and in turn those they closed rank on did the same and were called on it by the hypocrites that had done it first. Taking my chances for what I wanted away from me as well.

Oh the little faction being lead by that miner had the potential to give me what I wanted, but the ones who flocked to his side would have dismantled me within a cycle just for the sport of it. I was never strong in the physical sense, having honed all my upgrades and modifications to that of the intellectual pursuit I would have been easy pickings for anyone who wanted what I had and had no qualms in taking it by force. So the fledgling thoughts of joining were shot before I had even made a move to do so, especially after watching the childish actions of the supposed third in command. So much potential at his disposal and the mech was obsessed with triple changers and doing exactly as Megatron wanted. Too entrenched in making weapons and not how to improve ourselves as a race that weapons would be only a second thought, their narrow view on what would win their little war disgusting.

This attitude I had gained about both factions was what put me in the sights of our dear…leader, and thus I was approached.

The moment it was mentioned I could get whatever I wanted if I had the credits to do so had me selling everything not needed for my goals, and following like a lost youngling the rest down into the dark little hole. Earning credits and contacts as I mingled and helped in building the cave into a proper city, cementing my spot in one of the better areas for my research. Actually having a flock of young aides who found my ideas superb and worth helping with, a heady tonic to my ego and self esteem as I managed to lay out the groundwork and theory for the first of many tests to happen. I had waited this long, and with my ideas so close now to bearing fruitful success it was hard to keep patience in check as I waited for the last pieces to fall into place.

And oh how they fell into place.

Within an orn of the first wave of skittish little neutrals who believed they were being protected and cared for down here in the dark was a small flock of seekers. Who had only come down to help settle a group of oddly made mechs and femmes into a part of the city. It had been fascinating to watch the way that the land based ones with sensor panels flaring up and out from backs like a sparkling might do to pretend to be a seeker, interacted with the true flyers with them. All nearly silent, but for odd chirps and whistles now and again as if speech was below them, even as the others thought they were slow or glitched for not speaking. I spent cycles watching and noting the interactions and taking notes, only acting on my original goal when it became clear the seekers were about to leave, the looks up towards the cavern ceiling and agitation showing to anyone with half a processor that they would not be comfortable here under the organic surface. Flexing their claws and flaring wings when ever one of Carbonslice's little pet lackeys attempted to…reason with the group to remain here. Bribes and threats ignored, and oh the brutal efficiency they showed when force was attempted against them.

That's when I acted and led them on a merry little treasure hunt for the way out. Citing how my research meant I had to send others up to the surface every now and again for supplies that this newly created city couldn't make as of yet. They agreed after a while when mentioning it could also be used to help bring more of their flightless kin here. That admission had nearly made my spark sing in joy, because once more that coding had naturally done, and by some odd quirk of an accident at that, what I intended to do to it to fit that of the rest of us who could not fly. It made my want to examine and evolve us that much stronger that it was then I lost the lost bit of compassion I may have held for the life of others.

I barely shuttered my optics in hesitation when I gave the orders and those Vosnians were tricked into stasis lock.

My descent spiraled from there, but for now this is all I can speak of in this place. The Hunters are walking about again and it won't be long before they start sniffing about here, bringing those parasites as well. Perhaps if I survive to my next hiding place I'll finish the tale to whatever unlucky soul has stumbled into this mortal made Pit and finds these audio disks.

_End of recording…_


	3. Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMER:** Still not mines, nor the world. Back to the drawing board.

**NOTES:** Unbeta'd and oh hey I bet no one was expecting me to revive this story again. *eyes newly awaken bunny*

Once again:

#Symbol Legend#

'Blah'=Name spoken in cant

**Blah**= Speech in cant

_Blah_= Speech in wing cant

Blah= Word is being stressed

* * *

This medbay had first seemed like the labs to him and his look alike, the sterile smell and bright lights far too much like there, even if the smell of decay and rusting metal was missing. Unease however was hard to get rid of when you were expecting the sting of needle to a tube and the fuzzy almost awareness of foreign liquid sloshing and mixing with energon. It was why neither could stop the slow, up and down swish of _anxiety/wary/stay away_ even when the soft purr answered them of **safe/protect/no harm/together.** He nearly let go of the buzzing pieces of himself to disperse in fright when a white mech came in. The glinting of red on bits of paneling the only thing stopping him at the last moment, even as he felt more then heard the fizzing and loud pop as his look alike rebooted his systems when he unconsciously attempted to slink into a shadow that was not there in the brightly lit medbay.

The white with red mech suddenly was sharp optic and still as he focused on 'unseen and still' just as optics cycled through yellow, red, and blue as the reboot finished. The unknown mech seeming to be uneasy by the color cycling his look alike's optics had done, even though everyone in Prefect did that, and some had even modified their eyes to cycle even when not rebooting or coming back online from recharge. He didn't venture saying so though, because he still stumbled over the words and found it so frustrating how complicated yet bland this way of speaking was, and that 'defies the void' was now going **watch/patience/caution** in a rumble that was so low he and his look alike often times wondered how he and 'warns of darkness' could even hear or feel such when they had their own sensory feeds twitching in just such a way to catch those low sounds from those two. Though, the how didn't matter right now as he followed the instruction and silently watched this unknown, focusing more on his jittery and dancing pieces that wanted to scatter and float instead of remaining dense and packed together to make him solid, when the odd tickling of scans finally swept over him and off his look alike.

The newcomer didn't talk like them but, it was close enough to get a feel and know there was shock and several other emotions at whatever it was that had been found. He wasn't surprised; look alikes tended to be played with by a lot of the white mechs in the lab, before they got bored and either fed them to the recycling center or sent them out into the streets to study how they managed out there. They had been played with a lot and even though the white mechs also spoke in words at them they also gave numbers and those he could understand. Especially on those (dice) and (cards) while his look alike made the numbers change when playing some of the games the white mechs brought in with the little black and white pieces (Chess) and the large map with colored pieces (War). It was hard to show the numbers to the two jumpers, but that was okay because the jumpers couldn't get the look alikes to see how they can make a large mech fall unconscious so easily. Which was funny because their numbers and the jumpers with their glowing spots on mechs worked really well together when other groups had tried to take them apart.

Though, that wasn't what he should be thinking about as the white and red mech turned to the other two. Leaving the look alikes alone finally. The ticking sound as scans stopped and the screens scrolled quickly with more of those words as the odd mech seemed to not be happy by what those blinking words were telling him. Maybe they hadn't been played with enough for this one, or not in ways he liked. Some of the colorless ones had acted like that when they were not happy they couldn't really do what they wanted if they got some look alikes after another colorless had played with them.

Even when more of those words went by too quickly for any of them to grasp and understand with their slowly being built lexicon of terms in this odd way of speaking. Which this new one picked up on because he suddenly had a familiar look many even in the dark areas had when they were down there. That look of one who thought they were too glitched up to know right from left, let alone survive and even more helpless in seeing and understanding what was going on around them. It was insulting because they knew quite well about what was going on around them and how to survive it, they just did it differently is all. Really it wasn't like they had any use until now to learn how to use words or know what they mean before this. They were efficient as 'unseen and still' would say and words were hardly that.

Yes, it wasn't their fault these word users for some reason couldn't understand them when they clearly had the better way to communicate.

* * *

Ratchet didn't know whether he wanted to hit something or just pretend the entire cycle had never had happened. Especially when that little errant code he had learned to trust had began to niggle at his processors with the thoughts of the day going to the Pit. Even when he had gone through a typical bout of repairs and verbal chewing outs on some of the regular idiots that he had the misfortune of seeing limping or being dragged into his medbay. A common ritual, though he was loathed to call it such as that would actually mean he would need to admit to having some superstitious beliefs, that had happened for far too many vorns now as the war seemed to escalate instead of slowing down as Cybertron looked like a pockmarked hunk of slag with each new assault.

No the schnick as the blade that had hovered over his head with trepidation finally fell to settle snugly between his shoulder struts came in the form of a spindly little scientist that he had so little interaction with that he actually had to log on to the database to get a designation, poked his head cautiously into his domain. The static stuttering and blatant hesitation as the usually talkative, from what his record said that is, scientist to explain what he needed of Ratchet had only made that knife shift ever more snugly into place as he soon found himself, against all common sense, following the other to an out of the way area a good ways from any patrol units of both sides. That had made his little knife of Bad Feelings twist just so before hitting home as he laid optics on what it was he had been brought out to see.

Younglings. Primus take it all younglings that could not have been born anytime but during war from what his initial scans showed. Which in itself was already causing an ache in his logic units as considering the severity of the war and the general consensus of bonding in a way to produce a sparkling was to be avoided by each side of the war. Yet staring at him were four of them and unless he was in dire need of a system overhaul two of them were at the very least twins. The other option he didn't really want to contemplate as he unconsciously took note of the far too similar to be healthy coding the two had in his initial scans.

They were also eerily silent. None of the clicks and whirrs of ones who may not have fully integrated an actual lexicon of simple phrases. Or the short bursts of eloquence before the limited vocabulary caught up with them. Instead they just watched wary and in a certain…he dared to call it such but it was the closes thing his experiences and knowledge had of such, flocking pattern he only saw in those with fragmented flier coding of the Vosnian type. The group following the oldest lead in trusting and what to do, as the minibot sized him up in a way a youngling of his age should never have even known how to do.

Slagging war and all the complications it seemed to like making him figure out.


End file.
